Poem of the Day — Breaking Irons

Breaking Irons
Pleated swim suit gathering sand from a distant shivering shore line

Washed up like the crisp flakes that flatter those mimics

As I stretch out a barricade between myself and past desires

Feel the soft skin at my finger tips

Lance the test paper with fissured steel tendrils

Adjust the minute epaulette of my mind

The avenues still closed by doubt

Out on a dream style holiday trick salesman tournament

Jousting for a place in tomorrows full up funeral parlour

the one with the wicker baskets

A bell bottom trouser parade with a pink cushion inlay

Flowers left out for charitable donations

Given to petal grown agitations

They wiggled their bottoms on a Thursday at Thanksgiving

Breaking bad breath and bellicose belching

Oh it does spoil the atmosphere

The Vicar leaves in disgust

The Matron takes his car

To organise the morning after celebrations

Scraped up from the carefully mowed croquet lawn

With Tuesday’s delivery man

As they slip between the weeds and chronologically planted vintage rose bushes

Clipped but not frozen

Fractured and decomposing in eco friendly wet flannel massage oil

Rub it


Copyright Patrick Turner-Lee 9th July 2015

One Reply to “Poem of the Day — Breaking Irons”

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